#necrowitch

“I would’ve executed them on the spot, if I could,” she tells them later at a debriefing. “However… Besides the fact that damned necromancers cannot be killed - they are terrified out of their mind.” 

Blake, a weathered general and Jones’s second in command, springs to his feet. “Terrified?” He spits, incredulous. “They put fifteen of my best in the hospital and half of them are fighting for their life as we speak.”

“Yes. Because your lieutenant tried to take them by force.” Jones’s voice is cold, as it usually is. “Three newborn necromancers who’ve just witnessed their sole caretaker die, and a small army of witches yelling at them to surrender before attacking them. What reaction were you expecting from dragon whelps who grew in the wild, Blake?” 

“She wasn’t a caretaker,” Wanda can’t help but mutter to herself. Jones, of course, hears her. 

“Come again, Dr. Woodward?” 

She’s already regretting it, but now everyone’s staring at her, and Jones is irritated enough to make her speak if she doesn’t. So. “I — you called her their caretaker, but she wasn’t. She was a kidnapper.” She feels the magic burn at her fingertips and hurries to push her hands in the pockets of her lab coat. 

Jones hums. “Yet, the hag was the only thing close to a guardian they’ve had for fifteen years,” she points out. “She might have not meant much, but she meant something. I could read it off of them.” Steely blue eyes almost burn when they focus on Wanda’s green ones. “It’s certainly… understandable, I imagine.” 

Wanda swallows the hint and the faint hurt that comes with it. “Certainly,” she simply chooses to reply. 

---

Jessie finds Wanda on her favorite bench under the apple tree. 

“Hey.” 

Wanda shoots her a brief, tense smile. “Hey,” she parrots. “I’m okay. Really.” 

Her mentor smiles back. “I know. But it still helps to talk about things. As you’re well aware, given our occupation.” 

“We’re criminal psychologists,” Wanda points out, with an easier grin. “Technically, we help the court, not the subject.”

Jessie studies her with kind eyes. “Think we might’ve got the case with an overlap, Dr. Woodward,” she says, then. “And, even though I think Jones could’ve gone about it differently just now, I do agree that your experience could be helpful here.” 

“Who knew being the firstborn payment would help in my career,” Wanda snorts. “See? I joke about it. That’s progress.” 

“Certainly.” 

“And, you know. If I realize Jones’s comment was more upsetting than originally thought, I can always re-read Firstborn Freedom Act with a glass of wine. Sure helps to know my case is the reason it exists.”

Jessie chuckles. “The People v. Marlene Montgomery did have a nice ring to it. I still have my protest sign from the rallies, you know.” 

“I do know, you’ve shown it to me,” Wanda grins back, feeling marginally better. “That’s the whole thing, you know? Even though Montgomery won the case and I stayed with her… No other kid will go through that again. No more firstborn trade.” 

“Remarkable coping strategy,” Jessie says, “for a remarkable young woman.” 

She hums. “Tell me how the necromancers are made. What?” she laughs at Jessie’s amused glare. “Deflection is coping, too.” 

“Defense, actually, but I’ll let it slide,” her mentor says. “As for your question. Necromancy has to be passed down to someone. Those who absorb the curse become necromancers. Those who hand it over, die.” At Wanda’s frown, she nods. “A necromancer cannot be killed; and they cannot die unless they give the curse away to someone else. I know what you’re thinking - sounds like the key to eternity, so why don’t we have people catching necromancers left and right and absorbing their curse for something dumb like world domination?” 

“Well, for starters, there’s only thirteen of them left,” Wanda quips. “Also, obviously there’s a catch. There’s always a catch with forbidden magic.” 

“Obviously,” Jessie confirms. “They can’t die, but they do age. Not many people can subscribe to the eternal agony of growing old, necromancer or not. I imagine the hag was on the brink of insanity by the time her curse transferred to those three.” 

“Why three? Why not one, or five?” 

The older woman sighs. “Usually it’s just one,” she says. “Our guess is, the hag was simply too powerful. One person wouldn’t have been able to contain them, so she took three. The Council’s not gonna be happy with the Order, you know. Not knowing there’s a necromancer right under our noses for more than a decade.” 

“Do you think they’ll let them stay?” Wanda asks. 

“Depends on Jones’s negotiation skills.”

---

The necromancers stay. 

They’ve been extremely cooperative once they’ve realized no one actually wants to harm them. And once Jones has explained that unkillable doesn’t mean untouchable and that existing in a dismembered form on five different continents at once is not as fun as it sounds. At least Jones thinks her speech was effective. Wanda’s more than sure she felt the brunette girl smirk inwardly. 

The brunette’s name is Adrienne, because of course it is. The dark one. Pale, raven-haired, with eyes as black as ink, she definitely looks the part. 

They are on the cell floor, with the necromancers each getting one right next to each other at the end of the hallway. Neat little cul-de-sac for guests with murderous tendencies, every inch of it covered by invisible protection runes, dampening the abilities of those locked up. It’s the first time Wanda sees the trio in person. She’s not sure what she feels about that quite yet. So far, the necromancers have been treating everything with a simple, almost childlike curiosity, her and Jessie included. 

“I’ve talked to the Council and they agree that you haven’t breached any laws,” Jones says, interrupting Wanda’s musings. “The forest incident is,” their boss clears her throat, then, “extreme self-defense. You’re victims of abduction and forced conditioning, and you will be treated as such.” 

The necromancers, who’ve kept silent this entire time, pointedly glance around their cells. Jones clears her throat again. “With minor adjustments,” she adds. “Precautions, as we discussed before. Necromancy is forbidden, and you haven’t mastered your powers enough for us to trust you. So here are our terms.” The Director of the Order clasps her hands behind her back, giving the young necromancers a steely look. “You learn an accepted practice and take the Unbreakable Oath to never use necromancy again, and you’re released on parole. The Order is ready to provide you with training, therapy, and all the necessary resources. Dr. Leavenworth and Dr. Woodward are your assigned supervisors and you can rely on them during your rehabilitation.” 

Jessie and Wanda nod while Jones continues. “The cells don’t have to be a constant, either.” 

At that, the necromancers raise their brows. 

“We have prepared your accommodations,” the Director tells them. “Prove you’re ready to be a part of our society, and we will move you to actual rooms.” 

The trio calmly studies her from their cells. Then, Adrienne speaks. “We’ve been sleeping in graves every night for the past fifteen years.” She’s got a vaguely European accent and a husky voice that only deepens it. The lilt of hers is almost magnetic. “Sometimes, the corpses were fresh. Other times, it was bones.” Black eyes find Wanda’s when she can’t stop her horrified gasp in time. 

Behind her, Jessie whistles. “In that case, welcome to our resort. We’ve got snacks.” 

The necromancers frown at the unfamiliar word, and Jessie coughs. “Damn. We’re getting them some chips, stat,” she mutters to Wanda. 

Jones, however, doesn’t display her sympathy as openly. “Perks come with obedience,” she says sternly. “Follow the rules, and it gets better. Break them, and we downgrade you back to graves.” 

Three identical smirks on three different faces are unnerving. Even Jones is uneasy - Wanda can sense it. 

“You don’t want us near graves, Director,” another necromancer, Orla, speaks. She’s British, and Wanda wonders if the hag was from Europe, too, and simply fled to the States after kidnapping the kids from all over the continent. “Corpses only make us stronger.” 

“And we sleep better, too,” Brandon, the last of the trio, adds. He’s distinctly British, as well.

Jones clears her throat. “Your training begins tomorrow. So will your therapy sessions. You can tell us all the corpse stories there.” 

The necromancers nod in unison.

---

During the first week, the necromancers have to wear onyx bracelets to dampen their powers. 

During that first week, the Order learns that onyx doesn’t work on necromancy. It’s discovered easily enough, when they walk into the auditorium and Orla drains every plant of its life, leaving them withered in their pots. “Huh,” she says, and everyone looks at the useless bracelets. A wave of her hand, and the plants rise again. “Sorry.” 

“Do the cells even work on you?” Wanda can’t help but ask, and the trio shrugs. 

“We haven’t noticed,” Adrienne lets her know. “Will you put us in shackles?” 

Jessie sighs. “No. No, we will not put you in shackles. Just play nice.” 

The rest of their training goes relatively well, all things considered. The trio does have innate magic beyond necromancy - very small amounts of it, in Orla’s case, but she quickly takes to herbology during the tests, something even non-witches can dabble in. By the end, she seems to be the most pleased out of them. Wanda gives her some books to read up on herbs and earth magic when it’s time to go back to their cells. The younger woman clutches them to her chest with such wide-eyed wonder that Wanda damn near cries at the sight. 

Adrienne and Brandon demonstrate much higher abilities. Especially the brunette. Telekinesis comes easy enough to her, and so does basic transmutation. She manages a simple divination test but immediately admits she has reached beyond the veil for that. 

“A lot of people died here,” she tells them. “They told me. I would like to show you the bones of some so you can put them to proper rest.” 

For that sentence alone Jessie and Wanda let her off the hook easily enough for communicating with the dead. She gets books, too - mostly about the basics and history of magic. Adrienne stares at them for a long time. 

“You can keep them,” Wanda tells her. 

Adrienne then stares at her for a long beat, too. “Your books do not have skin on them,” she says, and Wanda can’t help the widening of her eyes. “Fascinating.” 

It’s Wanda’s turn to stare at her until the corners of Adrienne’s lips twitch, revealing an amused half-smirk. “You’re joking,” Wanda deduces. 

“I am,” the younger woman nods. “Not all of our books were bound in skin.” 

“Only limited editions,” Brandon adds. He and Orla have naturally tuned into the conversation, coming up closer to them and eyeing Wanda with an almost gleeful expression. It lacks malice, but it also carries the undertones of something Wanda can’t decipher. Like they are in on a joke and she isn’t. She doesn’t like that.

“Skin of the fallen aided in spells,” Orla helpfully supplies. 

“Alright, The Morbid Triplets,” Jessie grumbles, albeit good-naturedly. “Save some for therapy. Well done today.” 

Before the trio is escorted back to their cells, Adrienne pauses. Her fingers brush against the back of Wanda’s hand, unsure and surprisingly warm. “Thank you for these,” she tells her quietly. “I like reading.”

“I’ll ask if we can give you access to the library,” Wanda says. “I can’t promise, but…” 

“Thank you,” the younger woman murmurs. “You are kind, Dr. Woodward. I might learn to be the same.” 

Her touch lingers long after she’s gone. Wanda’s not sure what to make of it. 

---

Wanda is having breakfast in her room when she hears a pained scream. Inside her head. 

She’s already transposing to the cell floor when she fully realizes it’s Adrienne. Somehow, the necromancer has established a psychic connection strong enough to reach her all the way across the campus. Somehow, she’s established a connection strong enough for Wanda to hear her.

Blake and two of his witches are there, carving new runes into the wall with golden blasts of their magic. The necromancers are writhing on the floor of their cells, looking tortured and half-insane with agony. 

Black, bottomless eyes find hers, and Wanda feels the enraged sparks of gold in her fingertips. 

“What are you doing?” She demands, quickly sending a psychic signal to Jessie and Jones. 

Blake smirks as he briefly glances at her. 

“Your job, apparently,” he sneers, not stopping the measured movements off his hands. “You and your superior failed to inform us that the common runes don’t work on these.” The contempt in his voice almost makes Wanda shudder. “I’m eliminating the threat.” 

“You’re torturing them,” Wanda fires back. She feels Jessie appear behind her, just as she feels Jones’s quick indignation when she appears a second later. 

“Stand down, Blake,” she barks. “Now.” 

The general and his men do so very reluctantly. Wanda’s quick to cover the runes with a neutralizing shield, and the necromancers all collapse, breathing hard and fast as they struggle to get back to normal. 

“Explain,” Jones demands.

Her general scowls. “The protection runes are useless against necromancy,” he spits. “I’m merely upgrading them.” 

How did he find out? 

Jones glances at Jessie and Wanda, quietly furious, and they shrink under her gaze. She is definitely having a talk with them later. Wanda just hopes she doesn’t get fired. 

“I haven’t signed on this,” their boss tells Blake, clearly deciding to deal with one problem at a time. “And we don’t torture, Blake. This is a major protocol violation.” 

The general looks at them with an infuriating smirk. “You keep using that word, the lot of you–” 

“Blake,” Jones interrupts, warningly, but he presses on. 

“Good Gods, Jones, look at the damn runes!” 

There’s a long beat of silence after that, disturbed only by Orla’s labored breathing. To Wanda, the runes don’t look familiar; one thing she can tell, though, is that they are very, very old. She glances at Jones, wondering if she recognizes the writings. Judging by her dark look, she does. 

“Light magic.” 

Wanda frowns at Jones’s words. What does that– 

“The only ones affected,” Blake says gravely, “are them.”

The necromancers don’t move. They are still crouched on the floor, watching the exchange with unreadable looks. Well, Brandon and Orla are watching everyone. Adrienne only looks at Wanda, and her black eyes are both guarded and contemplative. 

“They can’t help what they are, Blake,” Jones says quietly. “They didn’t choose this.” 

“Jones–” the general tries, but the Director cuts him off. 

“You’re suspended. I expect you in my office for the formal procedure, and I expect a formal explanation letter at my desk by the end of the day.” 

Blake’s eyes flash with gold. “You cannot be serious–” 

“In my office,” Jones interrupts. “Take your men with you.”

The general grits his teeth, but does as he’s told. With one last withering look at Wanda, the man vanishes together with his crew. 

The Director studies the walls for one long second before waving her hand. The runes etched by Blake fade, and Wanda finally drops the shield with a sigh of relief. The exertion of holding it up has started to weigh on her.

Jones glances at Wanda and Jessie next, clearly displeased. “You two,” she mutters. Then, her gaze zeroes in on Wanda. “What were you doing down here?” 

“I - I wasn’t,” Wanda stammers. “I just - I sensed that something was wrong, and I transposed here.”

“Sensed,” the Director states. 

“I called out to her.” 

Wanda, who was prepared to lie her ass off for reasons unknown to her, other than all of her senses going haywire and screaming at her to not expose Adrienne, whips around to shoot the woman in question a sharp look. The necromancer’s slow as she stands up from the floor to her full height. “I was in pain, and I called out to her,” she repeats. Her eyes never leave Wanda’s. “And she responded.” 

Jones’s look is darkly pensive. “Dr. Leavenworth, please take Dr. Woodward and wait for me outside my office.”